T w i l i g h t R E W R I T T E N
by Nobbie
Summary: In this story, I attempt to rewrite the entire - okay, maybe not entire. I like living - Twilight book in my own little way. New protagonist, new plot - an actual plot I mean - and some fun in the mix. Some assembly required. Bella not included.
1. Chapter 1

About three things I was absolutely positive.

First, Edward was a freak. Possible alien relations.

Second, there was a part of him –

and I didn't know how dominant that part might be –

that seemed to really want to sniff my underwear.

And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably

in need of a baseball bat.

Seriously.


	2. Hell in a Handbasket

Forks, Washington. Ever heard of it?

Don't worry. Most people haven't.

Forks is the itty bitty wasteland in the middle of Washington that I absolutely detest with every fiber of my somewhat impressive being. Knowing that, it probably doesn't make sense that I've sentenced myself to live there.

I know it's confusing, but here's the lowdown. I've lived in Forks with my spirited (but kind of loose) mother, lethargic (but descent) father and my mirror-image of a little sister for at least a few months of my life. My mother, Renee, finally put her foot down and left my dad and Forks – taking one baby with her and leaving the other with my dad.

I was pretty down about her abandoning my dad, Charlie, and sister, Tracy, but that sympathy didn't last long after fourteen consecutive years of visiting them in Forks. At the fifteenth summer, I began to grow weary to my annual trips and Charlie and Tracy visited me in California ever since. Yeah, yeah, I'm spoiled, but I feel bad enough about it already.

A little after I turned seventeen, I had decided to move in with my faraway family. The reason behind it is that my mother began dating again and met this one guy who was "the one". His name's Phil and he's a baseball player. Not even a _famous_ player, but my mom has always been dazzled by anything. She loves him. I know it. Her feelings reverberate from her movements and her eyes when she looks at him. She loves him. I hate it.

Phil's team moves around (I have absolutely no clue why) constantly and I can tell how badly my mother wants to be with him, which is why I hid my motives for suddenly suggesting I move in with my dad and stick to it. And they say I'm totally tactless. Okay, maybe I am, but there are some rare moments when the universe makes me nice. I hate the universe.

The car was driving at a snail's pace to the airport. I'm used to my mother's slow driving, but it irritated me then. I really wanted to leave the wonderful state of California. I wanted to get the whole mess I had gotten myself into over with. I wanted to feel anything but annoyance then but even that emotion began to ebb away. I was numb. I had woken up too early that morning and stared at my packed suit cases for almost four hours. I couldn't even remember what I was wearing, nor did I care. My passenger-seat window was rolled all the way down so that I could say my goodbyes to the Los Angeles humidity more intimately.

We got there in nearly thirty minutes and went through the basic airport process in silence. The PA finally announced that my plane was boarding and I got off my seat to go. The only problem was that I couldn't move from the spot.

"Bailey?" My mom's high voice met my ears and I realized that she had gotten up too and had stepped around to face me in concern. "Are you all right?"

How could I have been all right? How could I leave my erratic, emotional mother to fend for herself? Sure, Phil would replace me (the word put a little lump in my throat) and there would be someone to call when she got lost or sad – but was he enough? Would he appreciate her, be around her twenty-four-seven and always be there when she needed him like I was (the use of past-tense made the lump even bigger)?

Of course I didn't say that to her. Instead I sucked it up like I practiced and smiled as widely as I could, "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Quit worrying." I patted her head in a half-mocking way, knowing how much my being just two inches taller than her annoyed her more than most things.

It didn't work this time, "You don't have to do this." She said for the million-and-third time that week. Her almost ghost-pale blue eyes bored into my contrasting deep brown eyes. Her gaze pulled at my inner-child, yanking at her until she was at the point of breaking down and sobbing into her mother's chest like she used to.

"Quit _worryin'_, Ma." I repeated and slung my carry-on, filled with the necessary snacks, onto my shoulders. Well, who really _likes_ airline food?

"I'm okay. Trust me."

_No I'm not! If I don't have to go, make me stay! Yell at me in public, grab me by the hair and drag me back to the car no matter what I say, woman! Can't you tell I don't want to go to stupid, godforsaken FORKS!? Get a clue, mom! Quick!_

My attempt at telepathy obviously didn't work on my mother. Her worried face was glued on and she made no move to stop me from turning and walking to the door which would lead me to the plane that would take me to my own personal Hell.

The tired-looking lady near the door asked me for my plane ticket. I zipped open my back and grabbed it with shaking hands. This was it. I was going to Forks.

The thought made me legs feel like jelly.

When the woman gave my ticket back ("Have a nice flight." She smiled), I took three wobbly steps to the door. I felt ill. Before I could completely pass the threshold, I turned on my heel and ran back to my mom, who was still standing near the waiting area chairs, bless her. I wrapped my arms around her bony shoulders and buried my face into her vanilla-scented hair. She staggered backwards from the force of my hug and laughed softly.

"I was going to kill you for forgetting to hug your mother," She hugged back tightly.

"I didn't forget. I'm here, aren't I?" I hugged her tighter and she said something about her spine. I couldn't hear her clearly with my shoulder muffling her voice.

We let go after a few moments (and her nagging me about missing my flight. The woman fails to recognize how little I care) and waved with every backwards step back to the door. She told me not to trip.

I kept right on waving until I rounded the corner and only saw whiteness. I stopped walking and faced the path to the plane. I took a deep breath and clenched my fists. No turning back now.

I put on my best determined face and broke into a sprint to my hellhole.


End file.
